Pinned
by bagelcat1
Summary: A hunt goes wrong and leaves the Winchesters in a precarious situation. My first attempt at a Whumptober story. In my mind this story is wedged between 11.08 and 11.09. Dean-centric. (No Smut, No Slash) Brotherly concern. Rated T for some swearing.


_**Hey all. So I wrote this as my first foray into Whumptober. I had no idea it was a thing, and I only discovered this challenge on October 20th - which is why this is so late. I'll reference the prompts at the end for those interested. This story is canon compliant except for the timeline. I imagine this wedged between 11.08 Just My Imagination and 11.09 O Brother Where Art Thou, (September 2015) but there really isn't enough time between them - so humor me and call this an AU if you must. **_

_**Note that parts of the story in italics are dreams or memories...just in case it gets confusing.**_

_**Finally I have no medical knowledge beyond what google might provide, so I apologize for any inconsistencies. Feel free to let me know about my mistakes (nicely) in the comments as I'm always happy to learn. Enjoy some hurt Winchesters!**_

It was the pain that Dean noticed first. His head was throbbing with an intensity that blotted out all sound and thought. It took a long moment before he could even begin to notice that the truck that must have hit him, felt like it was still parked on his chest. With some effort, he was able to breathe, but it left a grittiness on his tongue that made him want to cough. Slitting one eye open, he tried to see what was putting the pressure on his body. At the first movement of his eyelid, fine particulate fell into his eye, making him tear up and jerk his head to the side in an attempt to clear his vision. That was a big mistake. Scrunching his eyes closed again, the agony in his skull rose to new levels and it was all he could do to gasp for air as he fought the rush of nausea. Tears ran down his temples and he struggled to calm his stomach.

Finally when his gut and head had stopped churning. Dean slowly brought his right hand up and gently wiped the grit from his eyelids. He couldn't move his left arm and he wasn't entirely sure why, but the first step was to see what was making it so hard to take in air. Every part of his body hurt and it was difficult to think, but he worked doggedly. When his eyelids felt less like a sandbox, he cautiously tried opening them again.

He was flat on his back, in a decrepit warehouse, surrounded by rubble. Chunks of concrete, mangled rebar and other detritus were everywhere. A hole of pale blue sky peeping through a broken ceiling high above was the only light, but it was enough to illuminate the heavy layer of grey dust that coated everything and hung in the air. He carefully moved a broken piece of fiber ceiling tile that had landed between his chin and whatever was on his chest. Had it been something harder or with a sharp edge, it would have decapitated him. He swallowed hard at that thought, grimacing at the nasty, gritty taste in his mouth. Carefully lifting his head he peered through the grit at the weight across his body.

For a second he didn't recognize the jacket, the dust having turned the light brown to a silvery grey, but then his heart skipped a beat as he perceived Sam's long torso draped diagonally across his own. Sam's legs were on his right mostly hidden by a pile of debris, but his head was beside Dean's left ear. In a flash of memory, he remembered Sam shouting his name and diving towards him just as the witch they had been hunting sent a blast of red light in their direction. The damn idiot had tackled him out of the way, but the witch's blast must have taken down the crumbling support beam behind them. He remembered the rumble as the ceiling above them started crashing down and then they were falling as the floor collapsed.

"Sam," he croaked, the silt choking him. Clearing his throat as much as he could, he tried again. "Sammy!" he cried, but his voice was reduced to a thin wheeze. Shaking his brother got no response, and Dean's gut clenched in fear. Frantically he looked around. Sam's damp breath puffed weakly against his neck, but Dean couldn't see his face. Reaching across he pushed Sam's hair away. In the dim light, he didn't see any injury, but Sam must have been clocked pretty hard for him to be out like this.

Dean's left arm was outstretched. Sam's head was hanging in his sight line, but it felt like something was trapping his wrist against the broken concrete beneath him. He tugged experimentally trying to free his left hand, but it seemed pretty stuck. Wiggling his fingers sent a searing flare of pain up his arm that had him seeing stars and gasping. He couldn't breathe, what little air he could suck in was dusty and made him cough. Sam's weight prevented him from expanding his chest and Dean began to panic as black spots began to crowd out the limited light. Scrambling did nothing but steal even more air until darkness dragged him under again.

_xxxxx_

_Dean knew that the motel room was decorated in shades of green and brown with different kinds of glassy eyed fish swimming across the wallpaper, but in the dark the room seemed strange and frightening. Dean had startled awake when the door had begun to rattle. Then the power had gone out, and now the wind outside was making a "whoooooo" kind of noise. Dad had been gone for hours and Dean was frozen with fear in the blackness, listening to the thin motel room door shake in its frame. He'd promised Dad to look after Sammy, but now he was scared. Hunkering down with the blanket pulled tight around them, he fought to keep from shaking almost as much as the door. Thankfully, Sammy was asleep, curled up in a ball beside him under the scratchy fish blanket. His three year old brother didn't know all the things that could come get you in the night, but Dean did. Something had gotten his Mom and since then his whole world had been confusing and scary. Never did he want Sammy to feel as frightened and lost as he did. Dean had to be brave for his baby brother, so when Sam began to stir groggily he found the courage to put his arms around him and pull him close. _

"_It's okay Sammy" he whispered as he rubbed Sam's back. "It's just the wind. Go back to sleep." _

_Sam's warm breath smelled like milk as he sighed and snuggled closer, and after a moment his little body relaxed against Dean's. Dean could feel Sam's heartbeat against his chest and he began to silently count each rhythmic pulse._

_xxxxx_

Dean opened his gritty eyes again. The pain rushed through his consciousness like a wave and he groaned. It was still hard to get the dusty air into his lungs. Shoving Sam again didn't move the sasquatch. His left leg was pinned, he couldn't really feel it, but there was no pain so he hoped for the best and ignored it for now. Trying his right leg, he was able to tug it free from underneath the loose rubble. The whole limb was numb and stiff, but he could move it. Pushing off the floor with his heel and pressing against Sam's shoulder, he could wriggle a little to his right. The shift in position moved Sam's weight just enough to allow Dean to breathe a bit easier. Greedily he sucked in the sandy air. As he lay there catching his breath, he stared up at the distance patch of sky.

They had followed the witch into the warehouse around noon. Knowing their prey was desperate and dangerous they had been cautious and methodical, taking at least an hour to scout for booby traps and sigils. By the time they confronted her it had been early afternoon. Then the building had come down around them. Judging by how the light had changed he figured that he and Sam had been stuck here for at least a couple of hours.

The pain in his head made his thinking muddy and slow, and it took some time just laying there to realize that there was a growing dampness at his left hip. For a brief second the idea of the room filling with water and drowning them both caused his heart to race. But the warehouse certainly had the water turned off, and it hadn't rained in at least a few days, so whatever the source of the wetness, it couldn't be enough to drown them. A far more disturbing thought bubbled up. Was he bleeding? Or worse, was Sam? He tried to reach up and over his brother to search with his fingers, but the angle made it impossible to get his hand beyond the middle of Sam's back. He laid back for a minute to breathe and think. The only way to see what was going on was to move Sam, but even if he had the strength with one hand to pull the rubble off of them he didn't want to make a potential injury worse for either of them. There was only one plan he could think of.

Steeling himself against more pain, he locked his jaw and pulled on his left arm. It hurt like a bitch, but as long as he kept his fingers still, he could move the limb a bit. Shifting his wrist back and forth, he heard something fall and then enough of the pressure on his arm released that he got more movement. If he could get his hand loose he would have a much better chance at getting them out of here. He was pretty sure it was going to hurt, but he inched his hand towards himself. As he dragged his fingers past whatever obstacle had been trapping his wrist, a burst of pain burned down his arm. But then he was free.

Lifting his left hand up so that he could see it, he saw that his pinkie and ring finger were sliced open. Blood was running down his arm and the dark red of the wounds told him the injury was deep. He couldn't see bone, so he focused on breathing through the fiery pain. Carefully he brought his hand to Sam's head and, trying hard to only use his index and middle fingers, probed the dark hair. He could feel a large lump swelling obscenely from his brother's skull, a sign of a likely fracture.

"Oh Sammy," he murmured. The head wound wasn't bleeding, although it was difficult to tell with his own hand wet with blood. Sam needed a hospital, the sooner the better. A skull fracture was far beyond his medical skills, even if he could get out from under his brother. He blinked back the cold sweat that had sprung up on his forehead and trickled into his eyes. It was hard to think.

Sam's head wound wasn't the source of the growing damp spot on his hip. Gritting his teeth, he slowly used his wounded hand to slide down his left side. His clothes and skin seemed unbroken over his ribs and waist, although he was pretty sure he had at least a few cracked ribs. Moving carefully he kept searching and his fingers quickly found a puddle. Judging by the thick stickiness, it was blood. Flexing his stomach and wiggling didn't reveal any particular source for the puddle, so it wasn't likely his injury. Then his good fingers touched what felt like a piece of rebar.

Gingerly he slid his damaged hand up the steel. The rod was tacky and wet and a feeling of dread washed over him. His searching fingers touched Sam's body. Dean felt like vomiting. The rebar was coming out of Sam. The poor kid had been impaled on the dirty metal bar and was bleeding pretty badly. Tilting his head back, he rested his aching skull on the concrete below and breathed through the nausea that had reappeared. Sam was in serious trouble. The urgency Dean had already been feeling multiplied rapidly.

Doing his best to keep Sam's torso steady above him, he bucked upward again, desperate to get free. But his left leg from the knee down was completely buried in chunks of concrete and god knows what else. It still wasn't causing him any pain, but it wouldn't budge. His small struggle stole his breath away and Dean found himself panting. The pain in his head was a sledgehammer, his left hand was on fire, his eyes throbbed and his chest ached. This was on top of the bruises he could feel forming all over his battered body from their fall. To help him calm himself he did what he had done for his whole life. When things got overwhelming, he thought about Sam. The kid's broad chest was pressing against his own and if he focused, he could feel his brother's heart beating. Dean closed his eyes and let the steady pulse help slow his own heart rate.

_xxxxx_

"_Sammy!" Dean felt the word rip out of his body as he saw his little brother go down. It was too dark to see much, but every instinct said to get to Sam. It was only his father's strong hand on his arm that kept him from flying to the small, crumpled body._

"_Now Dean," Dad shouted, pushing him to the right as the older man spun left. The werewolf swung its head between the two hunters, trying to keep them both in view. Snarling, the creature dodged towards Dean. Shots rang out as Dean pulled the trigger at the same time as his father. The werewolf shuddered and then dropped like a bag of bricks. Once the monster stopped moving, Dean ran to Sam. He heard Dad move to the downed creature, but his whole attention was on his brother._

_With gentle but trembling hands, Dean tenderly turned Sam over. The kid had just turned 14 a couple of months ago and he was small for his age. Sam's pale face and messy hair made him look even younger. Dean felt for a pulse and released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding when he found it. Then Sam moaned and Dean snapped back into assessment mode. Peeling back the edge of Sam's jacket, he could see a large set of gashes across the younger boy's stomach. They were deep and bleeding heavily. Quickly pulling off his jacket, Dean shrugged out of his flannel and balled it up. Pressing it against the rips in Sam's body forced another low moan from his brother and his eyes flicked open. _

"_Heya Sammy," Dean smiled trying to reassure them both. Pain rippled across Sam's face and he moaned again, obviously in pain. His small hand came up and Dean folded it into his own. "You're okay, you're gonna be okay. We'll get you fixed up." Sam's eyes met his own for a moment before rolling back as he lost consciousness._

"_Dad!" Dean shouted for his father. Sammy was still bleeding far too much. Dad crouched beside them, feeling Sam's pulse for himself before digging the small first aid kit from the weapons bag. _

"_He'll be okay Dean," Dad said as he took a compression bandage and wrapped it around Sam's torso, trapping the bloody flannel against the wounds. "Let's just get him to the car." _

_Carefully Dean gathered the kid to his chest and pushed awkwardly to his feet. Dad had gone back to the body. The monster had reverted back to that of a middle aged man. Normally they would bury or burn the dead monster, but with Sam's blood seeping through the makeshift bandage, there was no time. Instead Dean watched as Dad dragged the limp body to the edge of a small ravine and roll it over. Then, shouldering the weapons bag, Dad headed back into the brush towards the car. Dean followed with his precious cargo._

_This shouldn't have happened. Sam was supposed to stay back where Dean could keep an eye on him. His brother had been hunting with him and Dad for a few years now, at first staying in the car, then on strict instructions to stay out of harm's way. But even then it was mostly salt and burns or maybe the occasional poltergeist - nothing too dangerous. Now Sammy was hurt and fear coursed through Dean's veins. This time they could patch the young boy up with some stitches and antibiotics. But what about next time? _

_No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't help but jostle Sam as he walked. The kid in his arms groaned occasionally. There was a damp spot forming on his t-shirt from where Sam's wounds had soaked through the flannel. He should never have Sam's blood on his skin, he should never hear the agonized sounds his brother was making, he should never be carrying his limp body. Dean could feel Sammy's heart beat against his chest - a counterpoint to the rapid pace of his own. Each beat reminded him that Sam was alive so he pushed down the fear and just focused on keeping his feet steady._

_xxxxx_

His eyes snapped open and Dean realized that he must have passed out again. Shit! They didn't have time for that, Sam didn't have time for that. Waking up brought all the pain rushing back, but once the initial onslaught faded, he reached up to check his brother's pulse again. Sam's pulse was thready and weak. They were running out of options here. Suddenly he heard a phone vibrating to his right. Reaching with his good hand, he dug through the rubble in the direction of the sound. The ringing stopped, but he kept digging and eventually he caught the metallic gleam of the phone. Stretching as far as he could, he managed to get a finger on it and drag it closer. The screen was a spider web of cracked glass, but he was able to hit redial. After a single ring he heard Cas' familiar rumble.

"Dean! What's wrong," the angel asked, his voice full of tension.

"Hey Cas," Dean answered, his voice almost as gritty as his friend's. "We need your help. The building came down around us and now we're kind of stuck." He paused and he felt his eyes start to tear up. "It's Sam, Cas. He's hurt bad."

"I'm on my way." Dean could hear Cas walking, then climbing into his ridiculous car. "Tell me exactly where you are."

Dean gave Cas directions just before the call cut out. With the splintered screen he wasn't sure if it was the battery or that the phone finally croaked, but regardless, there was little he could do but wait for Cas and and watch as the light began to slowly fade. His already aching body was starting to grow stiff from lying on the cold, damp concrete. He wiggled a little bit, trying to get some heat back into his muscles when Sam coughed weakly.

"Sammy?" he asked. Reaching up he pushed Sam's hair back to see his face. His brother coughed again only this time, blood splattered against Dean's shoulder. Dean froze. He moved his hand gently through Sam's hair, hoping to provide some small comfort. It bothered him to see blood on Sam's lips. Despite the dim light, the red seemed vivid somehow, as if the colour had leached out of everything else.

Memories flooded through Dean. Sam, destroying Famine with nothing more than a clenched fist and a red chin. RoboSam, tied to a chair, bleeding and battered by Dean's own fist. Sam his lips flecked with blood during the trials. Sam, on his knees in front of him with bloody teeth as tears ran down his face. That image was still far too fresh in his mind. He slid his arm down to Sam's shoulder, hugging him carefully. Tilting his head he leaned close to his brother's ear.

"Hey kiddo, you just hold on, okay? Cas is on his way and we're gonna fix you right up. I've got you. You're gonna be okay." Dean closed his eyes and ignored the moisture that was gathering in them. Not even six months ago, he'd been willing to kill his brother, now the thought of losing him was impossible to even contemplate. Concentrating on feeling the slight rise and fall of Sam's chest against his own, he held on as tightly as he dared and waited.

It seemed like an agonizingly long time, but was probably only another twenty minutes or so when Dean heard a noise above them, then a familiar voice.

"Dean? Sam?," Cas called urgently.

"Down hear," Dean croaked back, his voice sounding like gravel. He wasn't sure that the angel had heard him until Cas looked down at him from the edge of the hole they had fallen through.

"Dean! I'm coming down." Cas disappeared again but Dean could hear him moving around as he searched for a way to get to them. Sam coughed again wetly.

"Cas, you gotta hurry!" Now that help was so close, Dean was frantic with anxiety. He craned his head around to try and catch a glimpse of their friend, which got him another blast of pain. A moment later, Cas was crouching down beside them.

"Are you okay?" Cas asked as he looked a their predicament.

"I'll live. It's Sam, he's bleeding out and I think he's got a skull fracture. You gotta help him." Dean didn't care if he was begging, Sam didn't have much time. With a concerned frown, Cas reached out a hand and hovered it above Sam's head. Eyes closed, his palm glowed blue in the fading light and Dean watched as his face crinkled with effort. When Cas opened his eyes, the residual glow of his grace shone eerily for a second and he seemed unsteady.

"I've done what I can for both his head and his internal injuries," Cas rumbled. "I called the fire department and paramedics when I arrived. They should be here shortly to help extricate you both." With that, Cas patted Dean's arm and then began moving aside some of the concrete and other debris from their legs. As he watched the angel Dean felt lightheaded and exhausted. He'd been running on adrenaline and worry since first waking up from the fall and now that help was here, his body was refusing to cooperate any more. Fighting not to pass out, Dean saw flashlights sweeping the floor above and heard the sound of voices and footsteps. Cas obviously did too as he stood to shout at their rescuers. His voice was the last thing Dean heard before the blackness overtook him one more time.

_xxxxx_

_Dean looked around at the filthy hotel room in shock. Some newspapers strewn around, three dead bodies on the floor and a fading pitchfork drawn on the window were the only evidence that something earth shattering had happened in this room. Dean spun, his hands in his hair and tears in his eyes as Lucifer's words echoed in his head. "I told you...this would always happen in Detroit." _

_Sam was just gone. No matter how crazy their plan had been, in his secret heart of hearts, Dean thought Sammy could do it. He had believed, despite everything that his wickedly stubborn, insanely smart, scary powerful kid brother could do it. Sam could beat the devil. Losing Sammy to an eternity of Hell was impossible to think about, but at least his time there would matter, would save people and mean something. But to just be Lucifer's meat puppet, trapped and helpless during the archangel showdown. That was intolerable. _

_Numb and frozen his brain was unable to process that they had gambled and lost. He might never see Sam again. A tsunami of grief swept over him and his knees went weak, dropping him to the dirty carpet. Briefly he considered taking his gun, blowing his brains across the faded green wallpaper, becoming one more body in the room. But there had to be something he could do, some way he could help his brother. Sam wasn't dead yet. Slowly he felt the first tendrils of anger work their way through him and he let them smolder into a desperate ferocity. Anger was good, it helped him pull himself together and he was going to need it. He was going to make they pay for taking his brother - Lucifer, Michael, hell even God himself. But first his brother needed him, he could feel it down to his very bones. And if Sammy was going to die, well Dean wasn't going to let him die alone. He pushed himself to his feet and went to join Bobby and Cas outside._

_xxxxx_

Dean jolted awake, his heart pounding and his eyes wet. He had to find Sam before… As the dream faded, he couldn't really remember what it had been about. Only that Sam was in danger and every fiber in Dean's body was screaming at him to find his brother. He went to get out of bed when warm hands held him back.

"Dean. Calm down!" That voice cleared the last of the disorientation from his brain. Cas was leaning over him, pressing him back onto the bed as a frowning nurse stood nearby. His blue eyes were full of concern, but calm, so Sam must be okay. Dean let himself relax into the mattress, trusting their friend to have a handle on things until he could get his head on straight. The nurse stepped back and nodded at Cas before leaving the room. He patted clumsily at Cas' arm where the angel was still lightly gripping his shoulder.

"Okay, okay, I'm good now Cas." The sounds and smells around him told him he was in a hospital, so he didn't waste time with questions to which he already knew the answers. He wasn't sure how he got here, but he remembered the warehouse. "Where's Sammy?," he asked, the feeling of grief and anxiety from his dream still fresh. Cas let go but hovered at the edge of his bed.

"Sam had surgery to repair his liver. They're currently getting him settled into a room of his own. I was able to heal the brain damage Sam suffered while we were back at the warehouse, and enough of his wound to keep him alive." Dean swore under his breath at the serious damage Sam had suffered. Cas recoiled slightly, obviously thinking that Dean's anger was aimed at him. "I'm sorry I was not able to do more. My powers are weak." Cas hung his head and Dean cursed again at the angel's defeated look.

"Hey, Cas...c'mon...don't apologize. You did a ton, man. Without you, neither one of us would have made it out of there." It was true, Sam would have died if Cas hadn't found them, and if Sam had died...well best not to think about that. A shy smile crossed Cas' face and Dean did his best to smile back. "So, when can I see him?," Dean asked, still on edge until he could see the kid with his own eyes.

"The nurse said she would come and let me know. Meanwhile you need your rest to recover from your own injuries." Cas went to lower himself into the chair beside the softly beeping heart monitor, but after a quick glance at Dean he reversed the motion. "I'll go check," he said with a sigh and left the small room.

Dean did a quick internal assessment. His head felt achy and he recognized the effects of some strong painkillers. His left hand was wrapped up like a mummy, but he could wiggle the tips of his fingers, so presumably there was no permanent damage. Looking down the bed, his left foot sported some bandages, but no cast or splint which was a good thing and it looked like he had avoided the worst sorts of injury. He was pretty sure that when the drugs wore off, he was going to hurt like a son of a bitch, but overall it appeared he was lucky. Actually, it wasn't luck. Sam had pushed him out of the way and then taken the brunt of the damage himself. The stupid gigantor stole that play out of Dean's own book.

Alone in the quiet room, the lingering dread from his dream returned. To hell with waiting, he really needed to see Sam. Sitting up wasn't too painful as long as he took it slow and when he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, he was able to put some weight on his injured foot. Grabbing a spare gown from a small pile on a nearby shelf, he put it on over his current one like a robe. Then a quick look to make sure the coast was clear and he hobbled down the hall.

After a short search he found his brother's room. He hid in an alcove until the nurses left, then snuck inside and made his way over to where Sam lay. The kid was too big for the bed, but still managed to look extremely young. He was getting blood and a couple other fluids, and he was hooked up to a number of monitors, but he wasn't on a ventilator so that was a good sign. Both of his eyes were bruised which, against his pale face, gave him a raccoon vibe and Dean could see a multitude of small cuts and contusions across his bare arms and neck. Wearing a thin blue gown much like his own, Dean watched the slow rise and fall of Sam's chest as he breathed. On impulse, he laid a hand over Sam's heart. There was a strong and steady beat beneath his palm. He huffed out a sigh of relief and looked around for a chair. Tension he didn't realize he had been holding flooded out of his body and Dean suddenly found himself weak on his feet. Settling into the chair he propped his elbows on the bed next to Sam's hip.

"Hey Sam," he said, even though his brother was asleep and couldn't hear him. "The doctors have fixed you up, so you're going to be okay." He paused and cleared his throat, determined not to let his emotions get the better of him. "I, uh.. appreciate your hero act, Sammy. But, uh, if you ever do it again, I'm gonna kick your ass little brother." Dean had to smile. At this stage of the game, it was an idle threat at best. Reaching over, he brushed some hair away from Sam's face, stilling when Sam stirred and his eyelids flickered. Holding his breath, he waited while Sam fought towards consciousness. After a moment, those hazel eyes opened and eventually tracked his way. Dean grinned at him.

"De'n," Sam murmured groggily.

"Right here, Sammy. I'm right here."

The end.

AN: The prompts I tried to incorporate were 16 - pinned down, 23 - bleeding out and 30 - recovery. Thanks for reading. Comments are always appreciated.


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